The Telemachus Story Archive

Brett's Nightmare
Part 1 - Brett's nightmare
By shiba8

Brett’s Nightmare, Part 1

Brett pulled up into the driveway and turned off the car. As he opened the door he was greeted by the smell of cut grass and hay. He immediately knew he was home. Brett had come out to his parents’ farm to watch over things for a couple of days while they were out of town. After a three hour drive from the city he was exhausted and ready to call it a day. The sun had already gone down, but just enough light was still visible that he could see his way to the door of the house. “Dammit Mom, forgot to leave the porch light on…” he thought.

As he opened the door he paused for a second. He noticed how quiet it was on the farm. In the city there was never a moment of peaceful quiet, just the constant rushing of cars and wailing of police sirens. Here the only sounds present were a few crickets and the occasional frog croaking from the pond. He realized that he was alone.

“This is going to be a great weekend.”

Brett walked up the stairs and turned down the hall. He opened the door to his old bedroom and turned on the light. He dropped his duffel bag on the floor and looked around. The walls were lined with old baseball posters and trophies lined the shelves. For a moment he remembered how great of a baseball player he had been. “I need to get with the guys and play soon.” Life in the country felt so much more carefree, not rushed like in the city. People made time to do things like play ball. If it weren’t for his job he would move back out there in an instant.

Brett grabbed a towel from the linen closet and walked into the bathroom. He ran the water in the rickety old tub and pulled the stopper to turn on the shower. He tossed his clothes onto the floor, ignoring the laundry basket. “Mom hates that…” Brett laughed. He stepped into the shower and let the water flow over him. He ran his hands through his mop of brown hair and began to shampoo. At 30 he was happy that he still had a full head of hair. He rinsed his hair and grabbed the bar of soap on the ledge. Brett began to lather his chest, working it into the wisps of hair between his pecs. He stopped to feel his chest for a moment, and then moved his hand down to his stomach. Brett rubbed his hands over his stomach, remembering how chiseled his abs used to be. The six-pack was still there, but the deep ridges between each abdominal had faded a bit. “Gotta get back to the gym more often,” he thought. He ran the bar of soap under each armpit, scrubbing gently, and then moved his hands back to his stomach. He ran the bar of soap down the soft hair coating his belly and into his shortly trimmed pubes. Brett continued down to wash his cock, encircling it with his hand. He gave it a few tugs, and smiled. He had always been proud of his cock, only slightly longer than average but nearly as thick as a summer sausage. He ran his hand over his dick once more, this time not to clean it but just to give himself a little chill of pleasure down his spine.

Brett rinsed off and stepped out of the shower, water dripping all over the floor. He dried off, not bothering to wipe up the water and put on his boxer briefs. He walked down the hall back to his bedroom. Brett’s mother had turned down the covers on his twin bed. “Mom, I’m not 12 anymore…” He smiled as he slipped into bed and turned off the light.

A loud bang echoed up the stairs and through the hall. Brett sat up in shock in his bed. He sat silently for a second, listening to see if any other noises came. The moon shone through the window, giving him enough light to tiptoe over and grab the Louisville Slugger in the corner. He slowly walked in the hall and down the stairs, the old wooden floorboards squeaking under his weight. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, Brett took a deep breath. “Probably just that loose piece of wood on the porch banging in the wind.” He thought. He propped the bat up by the stairs walked into the kitchen. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, he filled it with water and had a drink. Looking out the window he could see nothing but the fence and the first few rows of corn swaying in the breeze. That was the last thing he saw before feeling the baseball bat slamming into his head.

Brett opened his eyes. Everything was blurry, and he had the headache of the century. He shook his head and blinked a few times. Feeling a pain on the back of his head, he attempted to reach up and touch it. “What the hell?” He looked down. The moonlight wasn’t really enough to see clearly, but it looked like his hands were tied to the arms of a kitchen chair. He shook back and forth, feeling his legs were firmly bound to the chair with rope. “HELP!” he screamed.

“You know nobody can hear you.” A voice floated from across the kitchen. “Let me go! FUCK! HELP!” Brett knew the man was right, but he couldn’t help it. “Normally I’d gag you, but since there’s no one around I’d rather hear you scream.” The man stepped out of the shadows. Peering through the dim light Brett could see the man had on a black ski mask, a red plaid shirt and jeans. The man’s boots slammed against the wood floors as he walked over to Brett, squatting down to face level.

“You fucked with the wrong guy this time, Brett.” The man locked eyes with Brett. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Brett screamed. “Remember Katie? The girl you fucked a couple of months ago and left drunk in a hotel room?”

“God, what do you want?!” He yelled, tears starting to stream down his cheeks. “Fucking another guy’s girl is not all right, Brett. Especially when you get her pregnant.”

“Holy shit! That’s not even possible! I didn’t even cum inside her! I pulled out before!”

“Well, that’s not what she said. You shot your load right in her. Thirty seconds. Pitiful premature ejaculator.” Brett was getting angry. “Fuck you! That didn’t happen! I pulled out and came on her tits! There’s no way!” His face was turning purple as he pulled against the ropes.

“Well, a big strong jock like you wouldn’t be a two-pump chump, would he? You say you pulled out before you came. Well if you’ve got so much control, why don’t you prove it?” Brett stopped struggling for a moment. His bare chest was glistening with sweat, dripping down through the hair between his pecs. There was silence for a moment.

“What the fuck do you mean? Let me go!” He spit in the man’s face. The man grabbed a kitchen towel and wiped his forehead. He threw the towel on the floor violently and slapped Brett hard in the face. “You’re gonna get what’s coming to you…”

The man reached into a bag lying on the ground beside the kitchen table. He pulled out a pair of scissors and walked over to Brett. “We’re going to play a little game.”

“Fuck you! HELP!” Brett was starting to get hoarse from screaming. He watched in horror as the man reached down and grabbed the waistband of his boxer briefs. “What are you doing?!”

“Shh….” The man started cutting through the waistband and down the leg of the boxer briefs. Once he had cut halfway through he ripped Brett’s underwear the rest of the way and pulled them off. Brett’s soft cock flopped down, the head just touching the seat of the chair.

“What the fuck is going on? Are you some kind of faggot or something? Let me go!” The man laughed loudly. “So let me explain the rules of this game to you.” Brett struggled with the ropes again, the veins on his biceps popping out prominently. “We’re going to test your control. You said you didn’t cum inside of my girlfriend.”

“Yeah so?” Brett said defiantly. “Well, you must have had pretty good self-control to pull out before you came. Most guys want to bury their cock in deep when they cum.”

“Just tell me what the fuck you’re getting at!”

“If you can control yourself in a pussy, you should have no problem controlling yourself with a guy jerking you off, right?” The man reached down and gently cupped Brett’s balls in his hand.

“What? No, I mean, fuck! You’re sick man!”

“So here’s the deal. I’m going to jerk your dick. Up and down, fast and slow, hard and soft. And your job is to not cum. Simple enough, right?”

Brett screamed loudly. “God damn it, let me go! This is crazy! I’m not going to get off to some faggot jerking me off!”

“Okay, well you sound pretty confident. I’m going to stroke you for 30 minutes. You’d better hope you don’t cum. If you can resist, I’ll let you go.”

“You’ll never fucking make me cum.”

“Well, you’d better hope not. Because if you do cum, your parents won’t be particularly happy.”

Brett stopped struggling. He sat without moving a muscle, except to open his mouth. “What?” he whispered.

“If you can hold out for 30 minutes, you’re free to go. If you cum, you’ll never see your parents again.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God. FUCK HELP!!!!” Brett started bucking and screaming more wildly than he had before. The man just laughed.

“Chill out, buddy! If you’re the big man you say you are you won’t have a problem. Just relax. It’s only your parents’ lives on the line.” The man winked. He walked over to the oven and set the timer for 30 minutes. “Here we go!” He pressed the button and the timer started. The man turned around and grabbed a bottle of lube out of his bag.

“No no no no no no no no no!” The man squeezed some lube on to his hand and reached down between Brett’s legs. Brett watched in disbelief as the man took his cock in his hand and began to fondle him slowly.

“We’ve gotta get you hard first!” The man laughed.

“I can’t believe this is happening…” Brett thought. The reality of the situation hadn’t quite set in yet. It all seemed like a hazy dream, but the haze began to lift as he felt the man’s slick hand sliding over his dick. “HELP!!!!!!!” he screamed. The man ignored his screams and continued to stroke Brett’s cock. He shivered as the combination of the slippery lube and the man’s rough coarse hands sent waves of pleasure through his body.

Brett clenched his eyes shut tightly and gritted his teeth. He was not going to get hard for this sick fuck. The thought of being pleasured by a man actually made him sick to his stomach. The man stroked Brett’s flaccid cock back and forth, occasionally grabbing it by the base and flopping it humorously side to side. Despite the stimulation, Brett’s cock remained completely soft in the man’s hand.

Noticing the ticking in the background, Brett looked over to the oven timer. It felt like it had been forever that the man had been handling his dick, but the timer read 28:30. He snorted heavily out his nose like a bull. “Just fucking let me go, this is pointless! What did you do with my parents? LET ME GO!”

“Figured as much, any man in your situation would fight with everything he’s got.” laughed the man. “I didn’t expect you to just give in. We still have plenty of time.”

Brett opened his eyes for a moment. He looked down at his poor cock, held between the thumb and first two fingers of the man’s hand. The man’s thumb slowly stroked back and forth across the underside, creating just enough friction to feel nauseatingly pleasurable. Brett suddenly felt a heat flush rapidly over his face as he realized how utterly humiliating the situation was. He was tied up in a chair, totally naked in his parents’ kitchen, with a large man fondling his dick. He clenched his eyes shut again and quickly turned his head to the side, trying to block out the shame that was overtaking him. Unfortunately for Brett, like many men the emotion of shame was intrinsically tied to sexual arousal. And even more terribly shaming was the fact that he knew it was overcoming him and he couldn’t do anything about it. His eyes shot open as he felt the heat spread from his face down his body and into his groin, terminating in an involuntary twitch of his cock. It had begun.

“NOOOO, FUCK!” Brett yelled as his cock twitched again against his will. The man froze, pausing for a second to observe a third twitch of Brett’s cock. He slowly raised his head to meet Brett’s gaze. The man could see the shame in his eyes, and even in the moonlight he could tell Brett’s face was flushed red from the humiliation. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Next page